FROM THE COLLECTION “SOUL” – A poem by Birgitta Trotzig

2.1

I see in the green area indefinitely,

whispering infinite body of whispers,

languages, languages and green eyes, reflexes and mobility,

moisture, sparks of light – how they are separate,

I do not have a separate,

I’m in an eye, everything is mirages and whispers,

light in a dark mirror errs increasingly far into the woods reflection”.1.1

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